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About Turin

But yo, here’s the absurd part—Hannibal-style. This dude? He cried when I cuffed him. Sobbin’ like, “I’m a good person!” Bruh, you a good whore, maybe. Had me laughin’—not at him, at the universe. How you gonna sell your spine, then cry about it? Reminds me of that plantation vibe—overseers whippin’, whores kneelin’. Ain’t nobody free if everybody’s whorin’. “I will survive,” Solomon swore. This aide? He didn’t. Snitched again in jail—whore ‘til the end.

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Then, outta nowhere, my phone buzzes. It’s my buddy Marco. He’s like, “Dude, you gotta check out the new gelato place on Corso Vittorio Emanuele!” I’m like, “Not now, man! I’m drowning in spreadsheets!” But he keeps going on about this pistachio flavor that’s supposed to be life-changing. I’m torn. Work or gelato? Tough choice, right?

Gela: extraordinary territorial control service by the Carabinieri.